


where i once was fire

by dreamtheft



Category: NCIS
Genre: Aftermath of a Case, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Team as Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-14
Updated: 2015-05-21
Packaged: 2018-03-30 13:30:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 18,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3938563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreamtheft/pseuds/dreamtheft
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Gibbs might be the leader of the team, but Tony was the soul. Right now, he didn't know how long it would be until that came back."</p><p>The aftermath of a case leaves Gibbs wondering if Tony DiNozzo has a limit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. can't un-know the monsters

**Author's Note:**

> WARNING: The case described in this story involves teenage suicide. If that will trigger you or affect you negatively in any way, please don't continue.

Leroy Jethro Gibbs had seen his senior field agent in all kinds of pain. 

Tony DiNozzo had been blown up and shot and tortured. He'd watched Kate die right before his eyes, stood helplessly on the other side of the bomb that claimed Paula's life. Gibbs had been there for the heartbreak after Jeanne, watched as Tony pulled away, became a version of himself filled with doubt, a version that second-guessed. 

Then there was Jenny. That was a whole different kind of pain. That was guilt, exposed and raw and pulsating, the kind that turned into a simmering anger. It was the closest Gibbs ever felt to losing the Tony he knew for good. There was more after that, of course. When they lost Ziva the first time, and then the second time. After that, Tony didn't sleep. He spent every night tracing his steps back, trying to find a different way out. 

Eventually, though, he got through that heartbreak, too. That's what DiNozzo did. He persevered, he pressed on. He cracked a joke and faked a smile until he could tuck the pain away somewhere it couldn't find him. 

Gibbs had helped DiNozzo through a lot over the years, when the younger man would find his way to the basement in the middle of the night to lick his wounds with a jar filled with bourbon and muted conversation. He always ended up there, even after Jenny's death, when he could barely look Gibbs in the eye for fear that he blamed him. He arrived just hours before he was set to leave for his assignment as Agent Afloat. Gibbs had offered him a flask, a firm grip on his shoulder, and a long stare -- a promise that he would get him home again. Gibbs always held his breath a little after a particularly tough day, for fear DiNozzo wouldn't show. He preferred Tony deal with his pain somewhere Gibbs could keep an eye on him. As hypocritical as it was, the younger man walked too closely to the line of self-destruction for Gibbs' comfort.

Gibbs knew Tony carried a lot. More than he should. There was a ton of weight on those shoulders, guilt for things he couldn't change, regret for mistakes that weren't his fault. Gibbs had done his best to get rid of that complex, but it was rooted too deep, was too embedded in DiNozzo's very nature to change it now. His childhood probably had a lot to do with that. Just one more thing to curse Senior for.

Gibbs always feared that one day Tony wouldn't be able to claw his way back. 

Everyone had a breaking point. 

That's what Gibbs was thinking about now as he watched the scene on the Captain Jack Michael's patio unfold. He was about 20 feet way, with two members of his team and a group of local officers, as DiNozzo tried to talk down an hysterical 16-year-old who held a gun to his temple with a shaking hand. The teenager's name was Adam, a blonde kid with a baby face who had battled depression since he was a boy. He'd been doing so well recently, his mother had informed them through choked sobs. He was a gifted athlete, popular in school. Since his father went overseas, he'd seemed fully invested in caring for his 4-year-old sister. 

But then the family received word that Captain John Michaels was dead.

That, as it turned out, was Adam's breaking point.

Nobody had been able to get close to him before NCIS arrived. Gibbs was certain it would be him in DiNozzo's position, but Adam didn't respond. Gibbs just seemed to be making it worse. McGee and Bishop stayed back. McGee's knew his own expertise, and this wasn't it. Bishop wasn't ready. It was DiNozzo who finally got through. DiNozzo who stripped himself of his firearm and bullet proof vest without a word, DiNozzo who casually strolled onto the patio, his arms held out to his sides, and struck up a conversation about basketball. Gibbs didn't even have time to protest Tony walking into a potentially deadly situation without protection before Adam was yelling, demanding through tears that everyone else step the hell back.

Gibbs shouldn't have been surprised. DiNozzo had never been good with young kids, but teenagers were a different story. Gibbs first noticed it when Tony talked a broken boy who had just lost his father out of not going to Princeton and joining the service instead. There had been a few others over the years, confused kids that seemed to see a kindred spirit in his agent. Maybe it was Tony's juvenile sense of humor, his affable nature and boyish grin. But Gibbs suspected it was something else: One heartbreak recognized another.

It had been four hours since Tony first stepped onto the patio. It was cold, rainy and windy, and Gibbs could hardly make out his agent's voice from this distance. It was making him restless. He could tell, though, that DiNozzo had talked himself hoarse, that he was dead on his feet. Still, he was doing something right. Adam had lowered the gun, but was still holding it in a white-knuckled grip at his side. Bishop and McGee had their guns trained on Adam, just in case, but Gibbs was sure he wasn't a threat. Adam was a boy in pain. He just wanted it to end. He had no interest in taking someone else with him. That's what DiNozzo had realized within minutes.

Gibbs narrowed his eyes as DiNozzo took a cautious step forward, holding out his hand. He didn't move more than that. Just one step. A small smile, words slipping from his lips that Gibbs couldn't make out. A soft reassurance, maybe. Or, knowing Tony, a joke. Adam took a few hesitant steps forward, lifted the gun handle first toward DiNozzo. Gibbs could feel this ending. They were just minutes away from returning this boy to his family, from getting him the help he needed.

He noticed the motion out of the corner of his eye too late.

One of the rookie cops on the scene started forward. The movement caught Adam's attention, DiNozzo's, too. The agent looked Gibbs' way for the first time since he walked over to Adam hours earlier. He held up his hands, desperation in his eyes. Gibbs lunged, grabbing the cop by the elbow to pull him to a stop. But it was too late. The temporary calm Tony had managed to weave over Adam was gone. The kid stared hard at the spot where the cop now stood, with Gibbs' hand still laced around his elbow. It was like he snapped out of a daze. 

Gibbs was sure he'd never forget what happened next. How Adam raised the gun back to his head, how DiNozzo cried out and reached for him in a last, desperate attempt to stop the inevitable. He would never forget the sound of that shot echoing over the quiet neighborhood, or Erica Michael's scream for a son that was already gone.

Gibbs would never forget any of it. 

The worst part was, he knew Tony wouldn't, either.

DiNozzo blinked once, his face, now spattered with blood, going completely blank. Gibbs couldn't help but think of the last time his agent's face was covered in the blood of another person. Tony had reacted differently then. After a moment of shock, he had thrown himself silently and completely into work. Not this time. Gibbs watched as his agent's knees buckled and he staggered back, sliding down against the back wall of the patio. And then he sat there, motionless, with blood pooling around his shoes and the body laid out before him. 

Everything was frozen for a moment. Gibbs released the elbow of the cop, not so much as sparing him a second glance, and looked over at the rest of his team. McGee had dropped his arm listlessly to his side. He turned to catch Gibbs' eye, like he wanted his boss to make sense of it all. Bishop hadn't looked away, her hand was clamped over her mouth. Gibbs was sure he saw tears in her eyes. There might have been some in Gibbs' eyes, too. 

Mentally shaking himself, he walked over.

"McGee, photos," he instructed, keeping his voice steady. His team needed him to be steady. "Bishop, call Ducky and an ambulance. Not much of a crime scene here. Let's wrap this up quickly, leave the family to grieve."

Bishop paused, shaking her head a bit to bring herself back to the present, "An ambulance?"

"The mom might need it," Gibbs took a breath, removing his hat to rub a hand over his hair. "DiNozzo, too."

With that, Gibbs turned his attention toward the remaining member of his team. Gibbs mostly ignored the movement around him as he made his way to Tony. He noticed a cop with his hands on Erica's shoulders, trying to keep her away from her son's body. Someone was on the phone with the social worker who was with Adam's sister, telling her what happened. Gibbs couldn't concentrate on any of that, though. Not right now. Not with his agent sitting exactly where he'd dropped, arms draped over his knees, glassy green eyes staring at the growing blood stain on the pavement.

Yes, Gibbs had seen his senior field agent in all kinds of pain. 

None of it looked quite like this.

Finally reaching him, Gibbs crouched down and moved his hand to the back of DiNozzo's neck, giving it a squeeze, "Tony?"

DiNozzo didn't move, eyes glazed over and unfocused, seemingly looking right through Gibbs to the boy who was alive just moments ago. 

"Hey, DiNozzo," Gibbs leaned a little further forward, bending down to try and force his agent to make eye contact. Tony didn't even flinch, and Gibbs felt some nerves rising.

He studied his agent's face for a moment. The blood stood out in stark contrast to his pale skin and his face was covered in moisture, either rain or sweat or both. Gibbs reached out, pressing two fingers to Tony's neck and finding a shallow, rapid pulse beneath his fingertips. He glanced over his shoulder, checking for the ambulance, suddenly concerned DiNozzo was going into shock. When he didn't see or hear one approaching just yet, he turned his attention back to his agent. He decided to try a harsher approach. Sometimes that was the only way.

"Hey," Gibbs snapped, slapping Tony's cheek just hard enough to make an impact. "Snap. Out. Of. It."

That seemed to catch Tony's attention. He slowly raised his eyes, and the look on his face was devastating. It was one Gibbs hardly ever saw on DiNozzo, so it took a moment to place it. Defeat. Gibbs let his hand linger on the side of DiNozzo's face. A softer gesture. A balance.

"You back with me?" he asked, bending down slightly to catch Tony's eye.

"That depends," DiNozzo replied, his voice monotone, "Did that just happen where you are? Because I'd rather not be there," Gibbs just held his gaze and DiNozzo sighed, dropping his chin to his chest. "Yeah, that's what I thought."

Gibbs remained silent for a moment, waiting for some color to come back to DiNozzo's face. He'd told Tony's father a long time ago that while DiNozzo liked to hide behind the face of a clown, he was the best young agent Gibbs had ever worked with. Years had passed since then, but the heart of the statement still stood. Thing was, DiNozzo wasn't so young anymore. He'd seen a lot. Maybe too much. And as Gibbs watched his senior field agent take a shuddering breath, he found himself wondering for the first time if Tony had a limit.

Gibbs rocked back on his heels, "Ready to get up?"

"Ready as I'll ever be."

Gibbs stood, reaching out to help Tony to his feet. The younger man swayed a little and Gibbs kept a hand on his elbow until he was sure he was steady. He caught the eye of one of the EMTs who had arrived on scene, who raised her eyebrows in a silent question. Gibbs shook his head, knowing that DiNozzo would fight medical attention every step of the way. He also knew that soon Tony's nearly cationic state would give way to phase two: Anger. DiNozzo was burning, it was just a matter of time until he exploded. He wanted to be far away from the scene before that happened.

Tony walked away from him without a word, stalking off in the direction of the car. Gibbs didn't like his agent's body language. Even when Tony was off duty, he carried himself like a seasoned federal agent. Gibbs would've pegged him for one even if he didn't know him. Shoulders back, head high. Always watching, always on his toes. The man walking away from him now looked nothing like the man he knew. DiNozzo's shoulders were slumped, his head down. He didn't even notice McGee watching him with concern as he passed by.

Gibbs let out a long breath as he headed toward McGee to see how much longer he needed. He was worried in spite of himself. He might be the leader of the team, but Tony was the soul. Right now, he didn't know how long it would be until that came back.

\----------

Despite telling Tony he could go home, the senior agent was still sitting in the squad room hours later. It was eerily quiet, the kind of quiet that only happened on Gibbs' team when Tony was away or missing or something went terribly wrong. It had been quiet after Jenny. Most of his team had been afraid to even approach DiNozzo. Every time someone talked to him, no matter what they said, he took it as an accuasation. His temper had been short, dangerous. Only Ziva risked getting close to him. Gibbs wasn't in any shape.

But Ziva wasn't here now, and McGee and Bishop kept glancing over a Tony, waiting for him to pull himself back together, to crack a joke, to say something, anything, so it felt like they had permission to go back to normal. Gibbs found himself looking toward DiNozzo's desk more than a few times himself.

Tony didn't say a word the entire ride back, instead leaning his head against the passenger's side window and closing his eyes. Gibbs didn't know if he was actually sleeping or just avoiding any type of conversation, but the method was effective either way. When they stopped, Gibbs told him to go home, but Tony ignored him. He washed off his face in the bathroom and returned to his desk. He'd been silently working on his report ever since.

Abby had made a brief appearance in squad room, but Tony had shrugged her off. He didn't return the hug, bristled at her attempts at sympathy. Everyone's head shot up when he snapped at her, ordering her back to the lab. Abby had looked like she was going to burst into tears, but Gibbs cut off her protest with a simple clearing of his throat and a small gesture of his chin. She'd hesitated, but dropped her head and shuffled back to the elevator. Gibbs would talk to her later. McGee had stared at Tony for a long time after that, and Gibbs knew DiNozzo felt eyes on him. But he just kept staring at his computer screen, not so much as glancing in Tim's direction. 

It was a rough day for everyone. But Tony had been so close, close enough to feel the cold metal of the gun on his palm. Just seconds away from giving that boy another chance. It was no wonder that DiNozzo looked so haunted, so un-DiNozzo like. But for someone who knew Tony so well, Gibbs was unsettled. He wasn't sure how the rest of this was going to play out.

Gibbs was so distracted that he didn't even notice Leon Vance walking into the bullpen until he was standing in front of his desk. He noticed Tony's eye flick up first, briefly, before Gibbs turned his attention to the Director.

"Problem?" Gibbs asked, standing up.

Vance sighed, and dropped a file on Gibbs desk. "I just received word from Captain Michaels' unit. There was a mix-up. Captain Michaels was reported missing in action, not dead. He's been rescued."

There was a beat, just a moment of absolute silence, before Tony was on his feet. He leaned forward, slamming both hands on his desk. The sound echoed across the room. Gibbs could see his muscles straining as he fought to remain under control, the muscle in his jaw clenched tight.

"You're kidding me, right?" Tony said slowly, each word enunciated just a little too carefully.

"Agent DiNozzo, I'm sorry but--"

The eruption was something Gibbs had been expecting for hours. Tony swiped his hand across his desk, sending files and pens and an empty coffee cup scattering across the bullpen floor. Heads popped up from around the squad room, but DiNozzo didn't notice. 

He pounded a hand down on his desk, "No. This has to be some kind of really unfunny joke," he bit out. "Because you see, I just spent four hours trying to talk down a devastated kid who only wanted his father and now you're standing here, _Director Vance_ , telling me this has all just been one big administrative fuck-up?"

Gibbs took a step forward, "DiNozzo--"

"No," Tony interrupted, charging out from behind his desk to stand face-to-face with Vance. "This isn't a mistake, Director. This isn't an accident that can be fixed. Adam is gone. His blood is all over his family's patio. And now someone is just going to say, 'Oops, my bad?' It doesn't work that way."

Vance took a step forward, "I suggest you take a walk, Agent DiNozzo."

Tony didn't budge, didn't so much as break eye contact. Vance leveled his gaze and took another small step forward, leaning so close to DiNozzo that Gibbs just barely heard his words.

"Take a walk before I have to do something I really don't want to do."

Tony stared Vance down for a second longer before he turned back to his desk, slung his bag over his shoulder and took off toward the elevator, not so much as glancing over his shoulder. Gibbs watched him until he stepped inside and then turned back to Leon, knowing he'd have some damage control to take care of.

"Gibbs," McGee asked, his voice quiet. "Should someone follow--"

"Let him be, Tim."

"But--"

"Let him be," Gibbs rubbed a hand over his forehead. "You and Bishop go home. I'll see you here tomorrow."

Bishop stood, collecting her things before hesitating, "Gibbs, is he okay?"

"No," Gibbs said. "He's not," he let the words linger for a moment before continuing. "Go get some sleep. Been a long day."

Gibbs focused on Vance, who didn't look as angry as the agent expected.

"Today's been rough on him, Leon," Gibbs by way for explanation as he picked up the folder on his desk and flipping through it.

"I don't blame him," Vance said, leaning back on Gibbs' desk. "I wanted to react the same way and I didn't talk to the kid," he paused, looking in the direction of the elevator. "He going to be okay?"

Gibbs didn't answer right away as his eyes followed Vance's stare. Usually, his answer when it came to DiNozzo was always yes. DiNozzo would find the lead. DiNozzo would figure it out. DiNozzo would bounce back. Resiliency was one of the traits that made Gibbs want to hire Tony in the first place. But his mind couldn't help but wander back to his thoughts earlier that day, and breaking points. He'd hit his awhile ago, when he took the time in Mexico. Eventually, he'd found his way back, but he'd still hit bottom before he got there.

Gibbs used to think he'd seen Tony's limit, after Jenny, after Jeanne, after Michael, after Ziva. But he just kept wrapping up the wounds and coming back for more, a little harder, maybe, harsher. Older. Not as quick to laugh off everything that stood in his way. But still undeniably Tony, even after everything. And yet, the look in his eye Gibbs saw today was different. It was the look of a person standing on the edge, and not knowing how to get down. It was the look Gibbs saw on Frank's face before he quit. It was probably on his the day he walked out of NCIS and headed to Mexico. Tony had likely seen it himself, when he said goodbye to Ziva.

It was a look of a person who was done. 

"I don't know."


	2. say hello to my demons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "He didn't save people. That wasn't him. He cleaned up afterward, but he didn't prevent things, or bring people back. It wasn't in him. He wondered how many more people he would hurt before he stopped trying."

Tony smashed the emergency switch in the elevator and then pounded his fists against the wall hard enough to make the elevator shake, hard enough that it hurt. He wanted it to hurt. He wanted it to hurt so badly that he would be able to forget. But by the time he stopped, panting and exhausted, the only thing he had to show for his outburst were red and swollen knuckles.

He sank down into the corner and dropped his bag at his feet. He couldn't help but think of the time Abby spent most of the day camped out in the elevator, convinced it was the safest place she could possibly be. Tony didn't feel safe. He felt trapped. He felt like there was a hole growing in his stomach that was slowly destroying everything that made him him. 

He sighed, propping his elbows on his knees and dropping his head in his hands. He couldn't stop replaying the day in his mind, from the instant he stepped onto the patio, opening the conversation with a mention of Adam's favorite sport, to the moment he caught motion out of the corner of his eye and knew that he failed. He reached for Adam, trying to stop him from lifting the gun to his temple. Tony even grazed his arm. He could still feel the brush of his fingertips against the kid's bicep, but it wasn't enough. 

He wasn't enough. 

He didn't remember much after that, just the warm blood splattering across his face. The familiarity of it almost made him sick. The next thing he knew, he was lifting his head to find Gibbs staring at him with too much concern in his eyes to be normal. Then again, nothing about this day was normal.

He didn't even care if Vance suspended him, or hell, fired him, for the scene in the bullpen. The moment the words came out of the Director's mouth, Tony felt like he'd been hit in the stomach with a baseball bat. Adam had been torn to shreds, so absolutely broken. His father had been the one person he trusted, he told Tony that. John had gone to therapy with his son, listened to him, convinced him he had a future. Adam confided to Tony that if he couldn't make it as a basketball player, he wanted to be a therapist, to help kids like him. Now, he'd never get the chance. How did a mistake like that happen, let alone get to the family? 

God, Tony thought he'd made it out. He promised to take the kid to the basketball courts in the park, teach him a few moves. He even said he'd make a few calls to his alma mater, if that's what Adam wanted. Adam was smart, talented. He had a family that loved him. And now, as quick as it took a police officer to take a step, it was all gone. A mother without a son, a 4-year-old sister without a brother. A family devastated.

They'd trusted Tony to stop it. They'd trusted him. And he'd walked onto that patio like he could actually do it. But he should've learned his lesson after the kids in Baltimore, after Paula and Jenny and the mess with E.J. and Kade. After Ziva. He didn't save people. That wasn't him. He cleaned up afterward, but he didn't prevent things, or bring people back. It wasn't in him. He wondered how many more people he would hurt before he stopped trying.

Tony ran a hand over his mouth and finally stood, flicking the elevator back on to start his descent. It was a fucking shitty day if he ever had one, and he couldn't wait to get home and drink it away. As the doors opened on the ground floor, he couldn't help but think about Ziva, and how he finally understood the need to leave it all behind, to start over, to do better. He always thought Gibbs was a little crazy for running off to Mexico. 

Not anymore.

His phone rang as he made his way through the parking lot and he grimaced as he glanced at the caller ID: Zoe. He forgot she was supposed to cook dinner for him tonight at his place. He couldn't do it. The idea of relaying his day to another person made him nauseous.

With a wince, he answered, "Hi."

"Hi yourself, Spider," she greeted. He could almost see her smile through the phone, "What time should I come over?"

"Yeah, about that," Tony tossed his bag in the backseat and leaned against his car, massaging his temple to try to force away the headache he felt coming. "It's been a day. Can we reschedule?"

She instantly sobered, "Is everything okay?"

"Yeah, i just..." he paused. "I'm exhausted and I really don't feel like talking about it. Call you tomorrow?"

She was silent for a moment, "Sure. If you change your mind…?"

"I'll call," he waited a beat. "Good night."

He ended the call without waiting for a response.

\----------

He didn't even pause to take his shoes off when he got home, instead heading straight for the liquor cabinet and pulling out a bottle of bourbon. It had been gift from Gibbs around Christmas. It was top shelf, the kind Gibbs kept in his basement for painful anniversaries and particularly bad cases. Tony figured tonight fit the bill. He thought for a moment about grabbing a glass, but then changed his mind, drinking straight from the bottle instead.

He wanted to drink until he was numb, drink until he stopped seeing Adam's face every time he closed his eyes, drink until he wasn't replaying the conversation over and over again in his head. There had to be something he could've done, something he could've said that would've made Adam start to hand over the gun sooner. Maybe he should've just grabbed it, snatched it away before that cop ever had the chance to move. He'd let it linger too long. He fucked up. Again. And now someone was dead. Again.

God, that fucking cop. Tony knew he was just a kid. It was a rookie mistake. On some level, he knew that. But most of him was just pissed off that he was there in the first place, that he had the chance to change the dynamic of such a fragile situation so drastically. He should've been instructed by someone not to move a muscle. Maybe Tony should've given some instructions before he walked onto the patio. There had to be something he could've done differently that would've altered the outcome. There had to be. Maybe it was just not being there in the first place.

_Could've. Should've. Would've._

None of that mattered now.

He collapsed back on his couch, sliding off his shoes as he melted into the cushions and took another long drag from the bottle. The taste was familiar, comforting. It had been after Jenny, when he was forced to deal with his grief alone on an ocean, with everyone he cared about thousands of miles away, split up and torn apart and broken. All because of him. He'd hated it then, but now he realized it was for the best. It was better this way, to handle things alone. 

The thought of returning to the office tomorrow filled him with a cold sense of dread. He couldn't remember ever feeling that way about going to work. Ever since that fire in Baltimore, he'd wanted to be a cop. He loved it. He thought he was good at it. But over the years, it had all just stacked up. The mistakes, the heartache, the death. Tony wondered what it would be like to be someone else, an accountant or something. A librarian. Some occupation that didn't involve watching 16-year-old kids end their lives inches away from his face. There had to be more to life than this.

All the failure, that's what hurt the most. The blown undercover operations. Reaching for Paula, only to have the door slam in his face. Begging Ziva to come with him, but having to leave her behind. Jenny's blood on his hands. Adam's blood on his hands. He took another drink, the bourbon burning his throat and settling in his empty stomach. There had been a time when he bounced back from cases like this. He'd had plenty of rough days in Philadelphia and Baltimore, and even his first years at NCIS. But he was older now, and he was tired. Exhausted, really. 

He was tired of all the failure.

His thoughts returned to Gibbs, how he walked out of the office and headed to Mexico all those years ago. Watching that ship explode had been his breaking point. He couldn't stay and watch anymore. Tony wondered if this was how it felt, to want to disappear, to leave it all behind forever.

A knock at his door pulled him out of his thoughts and he didn't move for a moment, raising the bottle to his lips again instead. He waited to see if the knocking would stop, if the person would give up. But it just kept coming, a hard pounding on his door that would bring complaints to the neighbors if Tony didn't answer it now. With a long sigh, he pushed himself to his feet, unsurprised to find the alcohol was already making him feel hazy. Good. It was working.

He swung open the door, unsurprised to find McGee standing on the other side. Gibbs wouldn't come here. He'd be expecting Tony to show up in his basement, but that wasn't happening tonight. Tony didn't want to see anyone, including the partner that was currently standing in his doorway. He knew Zoe wouldn't come either, and Bishop wasn't close enough with him yet. He'd already snapped at Abby. So that just left one person.

Tim shouldered his way in without asking, his eyes taking in Tony's disheveled appearance, the bottle in his hand. 

Tony took a drink, "Can I help you?"

Tim stared at him, eyes drifting back to the bottle in his hand, "I wanted to see how you were doing."

Tony scoffed and lifted his arms out to his sides, "Oh, fucking fantastic, McShrink. How are you doing?"

"Tony."

Tony didn't respond, instead pushing past McGee to head back to the couch. His partner could stand there as long as he wanted, eyes filled with concern, but Tony didn't want to talk about it. He couldn't talk about it. Tim followed him over, but Tony didn't acknowledge him. He took another drink instead.

"Tony," Tim said again.

"Just leave me alone, Tim."

"No."

Tony raised his eyebrows, No?"

"No," Tim sat down beside him and took a deep breath. "When I killed that cop, you came over and you refused to leave. You said I didn't want to be alone with my thoughts that night. You were right."

"This is different."

"Yeah? How?"

Tony slammed the bottle down on his coffee table, "Because you were a kid, Tim. You had never killed anyone before. Me? I've been doing this a long time. Maybe too long. I don't need a babysitter."

"If you talk about it maybe—"

Before Tony knew what he was doing, he had the almost empty bottle by the handle. He sent it flying, crashing off his bookshelves. It sent a mixture of glass shards and bourbon across his hardwood floor. Tim flinched, rising as Tony stepped toward him, inches away from his nose. Tony's hands shook as he fought for some control.

"Maybe what, McGee? Please tell me," his voice getting louder as he continued. "What's going to happen if I talked about it? Can we go back in time? Will the Marines not mess up and tell that kid his father is dead? Will that cop not move? Will I be able to get that gun in my hand little sooner? Will it magically stop Adam from blowing his brains on his family's patio? Is that what will happen? Tell me, please!"

He didn't realize he had kept moving forward until he stopped ranting. He'd backed Tim into his wall, not giving him a chance to shy away. He was breathing hard, the rage and the absolute devastation hitting it's peak. So much for not thinking about it, or talking about it. 

So much for numb. 

He sighed, taking a step back as he fought to get his breathing under control, "Please just go, McGee," he said. His voice was barely above a whisper now. 

Tim looked at him for a moment, and Tony was sure there was a trace of fear in his eyes. Instead of arguing, the younger man just nodded and headed toward the door. 

McGee stopped right before leaving, his hand on the door handle, "I know you don't want to hear this, Tony, but none of this was your fault."

And then he was gone.

Tony stared at the empty space for awhile before turning back to his liquor cabinet, grabbing a cheaper bottle of bourbon to replace the one currently soaking into his floor. He didn't care enough to clean it up tonight. Let it leave a stain.

He walked back over to the couch, not bothering to turn on the television or pop in an old movie. There was no point. Nothing was going to calm his nerves tonight. There wasn't a distraction big enough to help him now. He took a long drink, willing the alcohol to fill this bloodstream, to take him over. He just wanted not to feel. All that ever did was get him into trouble.

\----------

Hours later, he sat in the same spot. Drunk, emotionally spent, and not feeling any better than he did hours before. He couldn't help but long for Ziva. He didn't know what it was. He loved Zoe, he did. But Ziva had been there after Jenny. Ziva had walked away from all of this, wanting to be better. She knew him. She got this. He just wanted to talk to her, to hear her voice, to tell her that he understood. He wanted to be better, too. He wanted to stop hurting people. God, maybe she was the smartest one out of all of them. Maybe she got it right.

He pulled out his cellphone, scrolling through his contact list to the very bottom. And there she was: Ziva. Almost the last person, right before Zoe. He felt a little guilty as his thumb hovered over Ziva's name. Zoe should be the one he called, the one he reached out to for comfort. But Zoe didn't know him in this kind of darkness. Zoe wasn't the person he needed to talk to.

He pressed Ziva's name before he could stop himself and lifted the phone to his ear. This would the the third time he'd attempted to contact her since they parted ways years ago. The first had been right after he landed, a simple text message. The second had been a phone call, about a year in, just because he missed her. She never answered.

This time was no different.

After listening to her voicemail message — it hadn't changed — he opened his mouth to speak, "Hi, Ziva," his voice was hoarse. "I don't know why I'm calling. Actually, that's a lie. I do. I just wanted to tell you … I wanted to tell you that you were right. You were smart to walk away from all of this. How the hell do any of us know if we're making a difference?" he paused. "I don't think I'm making a difference."

Tony ended the call and then turned off his cellphone, dropping it onto the couch cushion beside him. He leaned back, closing his eyes, not caring if he actually made it into bed tonight. 

He wasn't going to work tomorrow.


	3. within your own storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Most people thought he laughed everything off, that he didn't take anything seriously. Gibbs knew differently. He knew that when blood was spilled, DiNozzo took it personally."

Gibbs hadn't seen his senior field agent in four days. Tony didn't send any emails. His phone was off. He hadn't been in touch with anyone since Tim saw him the day Adam died. It took until hours after DiNozzo didn't show up for work, but eventually McGee had told Gibbs everything that happened the night before. He wasn't surprised by McGee's account. When Tony didn't come to his basement that night, Gibbs figured he was in bad shape. He also knew that showing up at his apartment wasn't going to fix anything. If Tony didn't want to talk, he wasn't going to talk. He'd come around when he was ready.

Still, as time went by on the fourth day, Gibbs was seriously considering going to bust his door down. He understood where Tony's mind was at. Gibbs had been there, and he didn't want to talk to anyone, either. But over the years, Gibbs had grown protective over his agents. And Tony, well, he had been with Gibbs the longest. DiNozzo had taken the abuse Gibbs had dolled out, had proven himself trustworthy time and time again. If Gibbs had to take one person into a life or death situation with him at this point, it would be Tony, without a second thought. DiNozzo had earned that. He earned it everyday. Gibbs guessed it had taken it for granted that DiNozzo was unflappable, that he could handle anything thrown his way.

Vance had kept him in the loop over the mistake with John Michaels' status. It had been, as DiNozzo put it, an administrative fuck-up. The wrong name put with the wrong status, and it had devastating consequences. Punishments had been handed out, but that wouldn't change anything. That wouldn't give Adam back to his family. That wouldn't make Tony feel any less responsible. And Gibbs knew he felt responsible. He knew his agent. It didn't matter that Michaels never should've been reported dead in the first place. It didn't matter that the rookie cop flinched right when Adam was placing the gun in Tony's hand. None of that mattered because in the end, it was DiNozzo with the blood on his face. It was DiNozzo who would carry the responsibility with him.

That's what Tony did. Most people thought he laughed everything off, that he didn't take anything seriously. Gibbs knew differently. He knew that when blood was spilled, DiNozzo took it personally. He carried the weight of Kate and Paula and Jenny. Now, he carried the weight of Adam. Tony always thought there was something he could've done differently, something that could've changed the course of events. Gibbs understood. He did the same thing. He almost felt hypocritical when he tried to talk Tony down, because he had plenty of things on his conscience that probably didn't belong there. Tony and him couldn't have been more different in many ways, but in all the ways that really mattered, they were very much the same.

Abby was frantic with worry, begging Gibbs every time he entered her lab to go get Tony and drag him back. She called Tony everyday, often more than once. Gibbs had to reassure her often that DiNozzo wasn't in any physical danger, that he just wanted to be alone. But that wasn't enough for Abby. She didn't understand DiNozzo pulling away when all she wanted to do was help him. But Gibbs understood. He understood too well.

As it was, the team had caught a new case. A petty officer was found dead in his home two days ago and so far, they hadn't gotten much of anywhere. It was a frustrating case for everyone, made even worse by the fact that his team was already on edge. Everyone was half focused on the case and half worried about DiNozzo. And without Tony around, there was something missing. Gibbs had been meticulous in putting together his team. All the right pieces in all the right places. Tony was unconventional, he was the instinct. Whenever the team hit a wall, he was so often the one to find the way out. 

Now there was just empty space.

He looked up as someone entered the bullpen and found Zoe standing by Tony's desk. It hadn't been touched in days, except for the results of Tony's outburst being tossed back on the surface. Gibbs watched as he eyes traveled to the ground, looking for a bag that wasn't there. Gibbs guessed DiNozzo hadn't been in contact with her, either.

She turned, "Tony's not here?"

Bishop shook her head, "Hasn't been since…"

Zoe's eyebrows shot up, "Since what?" Silence followed as Gibbs' team shared loaded looks. "Will somebody tell me what the hell is going on?"

After another long moment of silence, Gibbs sighed, standing and jutting his chin toward the stairs, "Conference room."

Zoe stared at him for a beat, looking like she wanted to argue, before she turned and headed upstairs.

As soon as she was out of ear shot, McGee turned his attention to Gibbs, "Tony hasn't talked to her?"

Gibbs picked up his coffee, "Apparently not."

"What are you going to tell her?"

"The truth, McGee."

He walked out of the bullpen, following Zoe up the stairs. He knew DiNozzo's girlfriend was concerned, as she had every right to be, especially if Tony hadn't talked to her since Monday. Usually, he wouldn't discuss something like this without Tony's permission, but he knew enough about Zoe to know she wouldn't let it go. He also knew if DiNozzo hadn't reached out to her by now, it probably wasn't going to happen. Tony could talk for hours about things that didn't matter, but he tended to keep the important things to himself. 

Zoe was standing by the window when Gibbs entered the room, her arms folded across her chest. She turned around when she heard the door open, eyes narrowing, "You going to explain things to me?"

"Sit." Gibbs joined her at the table, folding his hands in front of him, "When was the last time you talked to him?"

"Monday night," she said. "I was supposed to cook him dinner, but he cancelled, said he had a bad day. I tried going to his place yesterday. My key worked, but he had the door dead-bolted from inside. He wouldn't talk to me."

Gibbs nodded slowly, taking in the new information. He knew Tony needed time alone to process, and he wasn't one to intrude on that. God knows he'd needed it for himself enough time over the years. But after McGee's story and what Zoe was telling him now, Gibbs found himself wondering how much longer he could let this go on. After Jenny, DiNozzo had let the guilt build up until it almost suffocated him. And then he'd been put on that ship, miles away from where Gibbs could keep an eye on him. He'd found his way back, but he was a little different after that, had been ever since. Gibbs found himself wondering if he had it in him to make it back again. 

"Tell me what happened," Zoe said quietly. "Please."

Gibbs sighed, running a hand down his face. He studied her for a few seconds, "He's not going to talk about anything until he's ready, and that might not happen."

"I know."

Gibbs took a sip of coffee and then launched into the explanation, starting with the phone call and ending with McGee's account of what happened that night. He figured it couldn't hurt to have one more person who cared about Tony know the story. Someone else in his corner.

When he finished, Zoe had a hand over her mouth, eyes trained on the surface of the conference table. She didn't speak for awhile, and Gibbs didn't push her. It was a lot to take in all at once, a long and painful story that Gibbs probably wouldn't have believed unless he was there for all of it. 

Finally, Zoe glanced up, "I can't believe he didn't tell me."

"Doubt he wanted to relive it." She nodded slowly, but didn't speak. Concern was etched deeply on her face and Gibbs let out a long breath, "I'll get him back."

She looked at him, seemingly trying to figure out if he could be trusted. She must have seen something she liked, because she eventually nodded, "Okay," she paused. "I need to get back to work."

Gibbs stood, "Go. I'll keep you posted."

As soon as Zoe opened the door to leave, Vance poked his head in, "Got a minute, Gibbs?"

"I have a case, Leon."

"This will just take a second," Vance nodded to Zoe as she left and then stepped inside, closing the door behind him and taking a seat across from Gibbs. "I haven't received anything from Agent DiNozzo about why he's been absent."

"He's taking some time."

"Look," Vance leaned forward, lacing his fingers in front of him. "I understand this has been tough on him, but he can't just not show up. There's paperwork that needs to be done. I've given him as much leeway as I can here."

Gibbs had been expecting this conversation for awhile. There was only so much time that could go by without Tony showing his face before people started demanding answers.

Gibbs stood, "Paperwork will be on your desk by this afternoon."

"That so?" Vance raised his eyebrows. "And how much time will Agent DiNozzo be taking?"

"How much vacation time does he have built up?"

"About two months."

Gibbs took a sip of his coffee, "About two months."

Vance studied him, a half smile on his lips, "And it will be DiNozzo's signature on that paperwork, right?"

Gibbs' only answer was a smirk as he walked out of the room. He hoped Tony didn't actually need two months away, but he would fill out the paperwork for that long anyway. It's what Jenny had done for him when he left for Mexico, and he'd been thankful for it. If — when, he silently corrected himself — DiNozzo wanted to come back, Gibbs needed to make sure he was able to. He'd told DiNozzo many times he'd always have his back, and this was no different. But if Tony didn't make contact by next week, he'd need a new deadbolt from his door, because Gibbs would be kicking it in.

\----------

It took until Sunday afternoon, but Gibbs finally heard the familiar footsteps he'd been waiting for make their way across the first floor of his house. He listened as Tony started to walk down the stairs, only pausing his sanding when he reached the bottom. He waited for Tony to speak, but when no sound came, he glanced up. Gibbs took in his agent's appearance quickly, not wanting to stare at him for too long, He wanted to keep things as normal as possible, even though they were anything but.

DiNozzo usually prided himself on his appearance. Thousand dollar suits, perfectly styled hair. But the man before him looked nothing like the agent Gibbs knew. Tony looked like he hadn't shaved since Monday, and Gibbs hadn't seen him with a beard since he went on his hunt for Ziva. Judging by the dark circles under his eyes, Gibbs could guess he wasn't sleeping well. That wasn't shocking. When DiNozzo had something on his mind, he couldn't get his body to relax long enough to fall asleep. He was sweating, a sheen on his forehead. Drinking. Gibbs stared at him a moment longer and sighed. 

Drinking a lot.

"Was expecting you days ago," Gibbs said by way of greeting, returning to sanding his boat.

Tony nodded, taking a seat on one of the lower steps. He was quiet for a long time, and Gibbs let him stay that way. He just continued sanding, keeping tabs on his agent out of the corner of his eye. Tony was staring at the empty wall in front of him, unmoving, unblinking. Gibbs noticed a slight tremor in his hands, whether it was from the obvious hangover or the trauma or the lack of sleep, he didn't know. 

Finally, DiNozzo broke out of his trance and turned his head toward Gibbs, "Got anything to drink?"

Gibbs ran a hand over the edge of his boat, checking the smoothness, "Think you've probably had enough for awhile."

Tony huffed half a laugh, "I can still remember, so I don't think so."

"There's not any answers in a bottle, DiNozzo."

He got a full laugh as a reply, although there was no humor in it, "That's rich coming from you, boss."

Gibbs let the jab roll of his shoulders, knowing he had to when dealing with a prickly DiNozzo. If he didn't, the younger man would be laid out on his floor within minutes. 

"You here for a reason?" Gibbs asked.

"Thought you were expecting me days ago."

Gibbs glanced up, "Didn't answer my question."

Only silence answered him, and Gibbs took note of that. He was purposely pushing some of DiNozzo's buttons, trying to get under his skin. It had taken him a long time to really feel like he knew Tony. DiNozzo was an enigma, all layers and nuance. He could shift into who he needed to be in an instant. It's what made him so good at undercover work and turning on a dime during a case. It's why he could spend a day looking like he wasn't doing anything and then provide the team with the break in the case they were looking for. 

But it also meant he was good at hiding. Gibbs guessed his childhood had a lot to do with that, too. While he was being ignored and shipped off to boarding schools, Tony carefully built up a mask. The class clown, the smartass, a guy who could carefully deflect any blow with brash sarcasm or a joke. He was smart, his mind fired much more rapidly than anyone gave him credit for. Most of the time, it was easier to catch a killer than figure out if something was bothering DiNozzo. But every once and awhile, something would penetrate all those layers. The mask would slip, like DiNozzo just didn't have the energy or the willpower to hold it in place anymore. When that happened, Gibbs had to go digging.

Now, he was hoping for some sarcasm, a typical Tony response. That would mean this wasn't as bad as he thought. But that didn't happen. He didn't even get a serious answer. Or anger. He just got the quiet, the only noise his sandpaper scrapping across the side of his boat. That was the worst possible result. An angry and bitter Tony he could handle, and a Tony looking for a long conversation had showed up in his basement a time or two. But a quiet Tony, a silent one, that was different. 

There was nothing worse than a quiet DiNozzo.

He watched as Tony stood, walking over to Gibbs' shelf and absentmindedly picking up tools and then setting them down again. Gibbs kept an eye on him, but just waited. Like he had been telling everyone for days, DiNozzo needed to come to them. He wouldn't push unless absolutely necessary, and Tony walking into his basement at all was encouraging. At least he was seeking out company, unlike for the past week when McGee and Abby and Zoe and even Bishop had only been greeted with radio silence. Tony turned, leaning against the shelf and running his fingers over the wrench in his hand. 

Finally, he raised his eyes and spoke, "I called Ziva."

Gibbs stopped sanding for just a second, but then forced himself to keep going, "She answer?"

"No."

Gibbs didn't answer right away, knowing he had to choose his words carefully. He stopped sanding, let it rest on the edge of his boat as he turned around to face his agent, "There are people here you can talk to, DiNozzo. A lot of people who care about you."

"I know," Tony flipped the wrench back on the table. "I just wanted to tell her I understood. Why she left, that is. I wanted to tell her that I get it."

Gibbs stared at him, long and even, trying to get a feel for where DiNozzo's head was at. But like always, Tony was constantly shifting, and Gibbs didn't have a handle on this yet.

"What is it that you think you get?" Gibbs asked, picking up a rag to wipe off his hands.

Tony was silent for a few seconds, "What you got, when you left for Mexico," he bounced his knuckles off the shelf. "That there has to be a limit for this. There has to be a time to tap out," his voice trailed off and Gibbs watched as he resumed his fidgeting, picking up a jar full of nails and tossing it lightly back and forth between his hands. "I started doing this because I wanted to make a difference, you know? I wanted to help people."

"And you don't feel like you are?"

Tony's shoulders fell as he leaned forward, leaning his hands against the shelf, his head dropping. Here was that quiet again, that damning silence that Gibbs so often loved unless he hated it, unless he wanted to break it by smashing something against a wall. He was trying to keep himself calm, steady and even, because he knew that's what Tony needed. But DiNozzo bringing up Ziva and Mexico had shaken him, although he'd never admit it. The thought of DiNozzo walking away, of leaving his team and NCIS behind, was enough to make him one to break the no drinking rule he had put into place. It was bad enough that Ziva left, he didn't know if he'd be able to bring himself to fill Tony's empty desk.

"You know, we spend so much time chasing people down after they hurt people, after it's too late. We hardly ever get the chance to stop something before it happens, you know? And that's fine. I mean, that's what I signed up for. I knew what I was getting into," Tony turned around to face Gibbs. "I just wish that when I got the chance, I didn't always end up with blood on my hands instead," he paused, a sarcastic laugh leaving his lips. "Or face, as it were."

"Tony, by the time we get to people, the situations are desperate," Gibbs said. "We give them a chance."

"No," Tony grinned in a savage kind of way, pointing a finger at Gibbs as he paced. "You give them a chance. I get them killed," he started ticking names off one by one. "Jenny, Paula, Adam, the girl in Baltimore. All dead. I didn't give them a chance."

Gibbs looked him dead in the eye, "You've lost your perspective."

"I can't stop replaying it, boss!" Tony finally exploded. Gibbs had been waiting for it. "I have been over every second of that conversation, trying to figure out a way it could've ended different. Was I too passive? Should I have gone for the gun sooner? Is there something I could've said that would've made a difference? Fuck," DiNozzo ran a hand through his hair. "The only thing I can think of is that it shouldn't have been me there with him in the first place. It should've been you! Or McGee!"

Gibbs remained quiet, watching as DiNozzo prepared himself to start up again.

"And you know what else?" Tony asked, picking up a hammer only to toss it away from him again. "I don't want to live in a world where a kid can be mistakenly told his father is dead. I don't want to see a kid put a gun to his head and pull the trigger because of that, or because a cop moves too son. How the fuck do those things happen? How many different channels would that paperwork had to have gone through to…" he trailed off again and let out a long breath. "It doesn't mater anyway. I should've been able to stop it. What the hell good am I if I can't stop it?"

Tony seemed to deflate. He sagged against the basement wall, his hands shaking much harder than they were when he entered Gibbs' basement. He looked so frazzled, so unsure. Fragile. Everything DiNozzo wasn't, everything he wasn't supposed to be. Gibbs slowly realized this wasn't as bad as he thought, it was worse. He waited for Tony's breathing to even out, for him to run a trembling hand through his hair. And then he took a step forward, folding his arms across his chest. 

"I put in some vacation time for you," Gibbs said evenly. "Two months. Take it. Drive somewhere, fly somewhere. Hell, sit in your apartment for two months if that's what it takes for you to remember why you do what you do. There's a reason you were the person on the patio that day, DiNozzo, and you know it. But I can't tell you. You need to get there yourself."

DiNozzo didn't react, so Gibbs just continued, "You are a damn good agent, Anthony. The best I've ever worked with. You take as long as you need to remember why. There's always going to be a spot on my team for you."

DiNozzo's expression had changed slightly at the use of his full name, and that was Gibbs' intention. He wanted to make sure he had Tony's attention. It wasn't often he handed out such high compliments. He liked to think Tony knew all those things without him having to say them. But Tony was disappearing right before his eyes, and Gibbs wanted to make sure he heard him, really heard him.

"And what if I don't come back?" DiNozzo asked, pinching the bridge of his nose, his voice so quiet Gibbs barely heard him.

Gibbs swallowed hard, once again picturing Ziva's cleared out desk and wondering how DiNozzo's would look without the Mighty Mouse stapler, "My door is always open either way."

Tony nodded at that, just once, slowly and pulled himself back to his full height. He held eye contact with Gibbs for a long moment before turning back to the staircase, preparing to leave. 

"Hey," Gibbs said, stopping DiNozzo's ascent halfway up the stairs. "You call me if you need something. Look out for yourself."

"Yeah," DiNozzo's tapped his hand against the bannister. "Thanks, boss."

And then he was gone.


	4. not what you should be

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "When it came to flight or fight, everything about Tony was the latter. All the training didn't make him that way, but it cemented it. He wasn't supposed to blink when there was a gun in his face. He wasn't supposed to freeze when he was trapped. He was supposed to think his way out. But this time, he didn't know which way was up.
> 
> He didn't know how to get out."

Two days later, Tony switched his phone back on while he packed. He still didn't feel up to talking to anyone, but with plans to leave the country, he figured the least he could do was text Zoe. He probably owed Abby and McGee an apology, too. He sat on the edge of his bed, a single bag stuffed only with necessities at his feet. He didn't know where was going yet. He'd figure it out when he got to the airport, maybe just close his eyes and point. Tony had always loved to travel, but he never went anywhere unless it was to kill someone or chase someone. So, he was going to go somewhere, see the sights, try to stop the echo of a gunshot from waking him up in the middle of the night.

He sifted through missed phone calls and text messages. Abby had reached triple digits. McGee and Zoe had both tried to check in. There was even a text message from Bishop, offering her support. But there was one text that he didn't expect. He had resigned himself awhile ago to the fact that he would never talk to Ziva again. She had made herself very clear. She needed a clean break. That didn't matter the night Adam died, when he was drunk and desperate. Ziva must have heard that edge in his voice, because here she was, on his cellphone. A single sentence.

_You made a difference to me._

That was all. No phone call. No follow-up. Just that. And that's all it took to stop Tony's breath. He ran his thumb over the message, knowing he wouldn't respond but just wanting to make sure it was really there. The chill that had settled over him since Adam died lifted for just a moment. He closed his eyes, dropping his head to his chest, forcing himself to remember how that felt. 

Then it was gone, the pit settling back into his stomach. He closed the thread and texted Zoe to say he was sorry for shutting her out, that he was leaving, that he'd call when he'd get back. He apologized to McGee for the outburst, to Abby for snapping. He told Bishop thank you. He sent one more to Gibbs, just to say he'd call when he got wherever he was going to leave an emergency number. And then he turned his phone off again, opened his nightstand and tucked it inside.

He had arranged for his neighbor to feed the goldfish for the next two months, just in case he ended up staying away that long. He had no plans, no timetable, no schedule. All he knew is that he needed to get away, as if traveling across the ocean could send him back in time. He picked up his bag, casting a last glance around his apartment before he walked out, locking the door behind him.

He had called ahead for a taxi, planning the ride to the airport for the early afternoon. Less traffic meant minimal time at a standstill. He needed to be moving, doing something. It was the only way he could distract himself. 

He was grateful Gibbs put in for his vacation time, even more grateful that he was handling Vance. The thought of walking back into the NCIS offices right now made Tony feel panicky, which was an unfamiliar emotion for him. He'd lived his entire life forcing it down, staying sturdy. Always thinking two steps ahead, always in control. When it came to flight or fight, everything about him was the latter. All the training didn't make him that way, but it cemented it. He wasn't supposed to blink when there was a gun in his face. He wasn't supposed to freeze when he was trapped. He was supposed to think his way out. But this time, he didn't know which way was up.

He didn't know how to get out.

It was probably a good thing he couldn't bring himself to go back to NCIS, because right now, he'd be nothing but a liability. He was doubting himself, doubting his instincts. That's how people got killed, and God knows Tony had enough of that lately.

He leaned back against the seat of the taxi, watching as the streets of the city streaked by outside his window. His emotions had been all over the place since Adam's death. He finally felt like he had a handle on the anger, like he wasn't going to jump out of his skin, or down someone's throat at a moment's notice. But what followed was almost worse. There was a kind of dullness that had settled over him, like nothing mattered, like nothing ever did. 

Being a cop used to fill him with a sense of purpose. He was doing something, and what he was doing mattered. He wasn't one to believe in fate, but there was a part of him that felt like he was meant to be an agent. Even when his personal life went to shit, even when he'd been up for 48 hours or slept in his chair for a week, he wanted to be there. He'd built himself a home out of NCIS. The walls of the building were a house, the people a family. He swallowed thickly, running a hand over his eyes. 

What else would he have if he walked away?

And yet, Tony couldn't imagine returning. He tried. He tried to picture himself walking back into the office, tossing his bag beside his desk, teasing McGee with a comment about video games. But it seemed blurry somehow, like an out-of-focus camera, a dream sequence in a movie. It wasn't real.

He saw the concern in Gibbs' eyes when he showed up in the basement. His boss clearly thought he was losing it and hell, maybe he was. But Gibbs got to lose it for a few months when he went to Mexico. It was Tony's turn. He couldn't go back to Washington without going back to NCIS. It wasn't possible. And so maybe that's what this was, a decision. If he didn't come back, then he didn't come back. He'd lived most of his life without a family. 

He could handle it.

\----------

In the end, he ended up choosing Madrid. He wanted a place where he could forget who he was for awhile and in Spain, he wouldn't even have to speak his native language. He could talk in Spanish. He could be anyone. He'd booked the next possible flight, then wandered around the streets until he found a hotel with a room available. It was a nice one for the last minute, with a balcony overlooking the city and the traffic that streamed along the streets.

He'd spent most of the flight asleep, which he now regretted. He would be up all night. But he hadn't gotten a full night of rest since Adam. Something about the plane, the realization that he was getting away from it all, relaxed him. He drank two mini bottles of wine and then settled in to a mercifully dreamless sleep. The last thing he wanted was to jackknife awake on the crowded plane, courtesy of yet another nightmare.

Now, he was settling into the hotel room, unpacking the few clothes he brought and stashing the toiletries in the bathroom. He'd paid for two weeks, thinking he could either extend it either or go somewhere else. Or go home, if that's what he wanted. Tony sat down on the bed, grabbing the hotel phone and the phone card he'd picked up at the airport. He promised Gibbs a phone call, so he would give him a phone call. His boss picked up on the second ring.

"Yeah, Gibbs."

"Boss, it's DiNozzo."

There was a slight pause, probably Gibbs stepping somewhere private, "Where are you?"

"Madrid. Thought I'd practice my Spanish."

Tony could almost picture Gibbs leaning against a back wall in the office, "Abby is freaking out that you turned your phone off again."

Tony pinched the bridge of his nose, "I'll send a postcard."

"How long are you staying?"

"I don't know."

"Coming back?"

Tony let out a long breath, "I don't know."

Silence for a moment, as if Gibbs was silently debating whether he wanted to keep pushing.

"You okay?" he asked finally.

Tony just clenched his jaw. It's not that he didn't want to answer Gibbs. Mainly, he didn't know what to say. He just stayed quiet instead. Seemed to work for Gibbs. 

He heard Gibbs give a slight sigh and then speak again, "Be careful."

"I will."

With that, Tony placed the phone back into the cradle and fell back on the bed, lacing his fingers behind his head.

\----------

Tony spent the next two weeks getting lost in Madrid's city streets. He didn't go anywhere in particular, didn't set out to see anything on any given day. He just walked, stopping for the occasional meal, stopping for the more than occasional drink. He'd made friends with the lady at the cafe next door to his hotel. She thought he was an interpreter for a medical company, and he found himself slipping comfortably into the persona, his undercover skills unwittingly coming into play. It was nice, to forget for awhile who he actually was, to not have to flash his badge every time he walked into a doorway. He was an interpreter on vacation who liked his coffee with too much sugar, and that was just fine with him.

But while he could fool everyone else, he couldn't fool himself. He wasn't Tony the interpreter on vacation who liked his coffee with too much sugar. He was Tony the NCIS senior field agent, who had bolted out of Washington, and liked his coffee with too much sugar. He felt lifeless, like he lost something and he didn't know what or where it was. More often than not, he still found himself thinking back to that patio, trying to talk Adam all the way home. He still woke up at night in a cold sweat, the sheets twisted in his hands. He hoped Madrid would change all that, but everything was the same. He still felt like he was going to implode.

The anger was back. Not as strong as before, not as violent. It just simmered, settled. It became a part of him. He was Tony DiNozzo and he was pissed off. Pissed off at the marines and the mistake they made. Pissed off at the rookie cop who moved too soon. Pissed off at himself for not saving Adam in spite of it all. Angry, deeply and intensely angry. He could control it now. He didn't let it show. But it was still there, and it was eating him alive.

He was walking back to the hotel now, planning to extend his stay for another week before he picked a new location. Maybe Prague, or Athens. He'd always wanted to go to both. He craved new streets to explore, new people to play pretend with. He was already working on developing a new identity to take. He could be a movie critic, a car salesman, a lawyer. He pushed through the door to the hotel, stopping by the front desk to pay for the next week. The concierge held up a finger to him and then slid a thick envelope across the counter. Tony glanced at the return address: NCIS.

Gibbs.

Tony should've known his boss would find him. Well, found him with some help from McGee or Abby or both. He paid for the hotel with a credit card, booked everything under his name. He wasn't hiding, he just wasn't reaching out. He thought everyone would just leave him be, but apparently that was too much to hope for. Tony clenched the envelope in white knuckles as he paid for another week in the room and then carried it upstairs, opening it as he sat on the bed. 

It was a case file, a recent one, unsolved. It must have been what the team was currently working on. A marine's wife, murdered while he was overseas and dumped in the Potomac. Tony read a few sentences and then threw it against the wall, watching as the pages fluttered to the carpet. He guessed it was too good to be true, Gibbs sending him on his way, not interfering. Tony wondered what would've happened if he sent case files first class to Mexico. Tony thought he had all that anger under control, but suddenly it was boiling again. He wanted to light the fucking file on fire.

He didn't want it. He didn't want to think about work. Wasn't that the point of all of this? He stood, walking to the room's wet bar and choosing a mini bottle of bourbon. No glass, as usual. Right from the bottle. It wasn't until he tried to lift it to his lips that he realized his hand was shaking. 

Damn it all to hell.

He sat on the edge of his bed, drinking and staring at the papers from the file scattered across his hotel room floor. He thought about calling Gibbs and telling him to fuck off, but he didn't have the energy. Gibbs would get the point when Tony didn't check in next time he moved. If there was an emergency, someone would find him. They were federal agents, for God's sake. They'd found him here, so they would figure it out.

Tony finished off the bottle of bourbon and grabbed another, enjoying the burn in his throat and then again when it hit his stomach. He drank the second one quickly, probably too quickly, and then grabbed his wallet and started for the door. Tonight he needed to get drunk, so drunk that he couldn't get lost in thought even if he wanted to. 

He spared one last glance for the file, trying to suppress all the emotions it brought up, but he couldn't do it. He could almost hear Gibbs saying grab your gear, could almost picture the three of them in the squad room standing in front of the flatscreen. The night would be long, the days longer. Endless phone calls and car rides. Hours-long interrogations. He blinked, bringing himself back to the present, trying to ignore the rolling of his stomach. He wanted to hit something, but he'd settle for drinking something. He reached down, gathered up the pages of the file, and dumped it in the garbage.

\----------

He woke up still in his clothes from his night before, one shoe on and other buried somewhere in the sheets. He winced at the light streaming through the windows, throwing his arm over his eyes to block it out. His mouth was dry, his head pounding. He knew if he moved too quickly he would end up on his knees in the bathroom. He didn't remember much about his night, except that he ran into some traveling American businessmen. The last thing he could recall were tequila shots in a hole in the wall bar a few streets over. Somehow, he managed to get back to the hotel.

He slowly sat up, leaning heavily against the headboard. He'd thought enough the night before to leave a glass of water and some Advil by the bed, and he downed both greedily. Tony wouldn't be going much of anywhere today if this hangover had anything to say about it, so he just closed his eyes, letting himself take the day one step at a time. 

He had tried so hard the night before to make himself forget, but the more he drank, the more he seemed to remember. Forgetting NCIS was like trying to forget his own skin, to crawl out of it and never thinking about climbing back in. He was being assaulted from everywhere now, all of the guilt and headache and misery on one side and that fucking case file on the other. Jenny's blood, Jeanne's tears, Adam's heartache against the marine in the team's new case, who just wanted answers. He felt responsible for all of it, and the confusion had him wanting another drink.

He didn't want the responsibility. That's what this was all about, wasn't it? The fact that he had other people's blood soaked so deeply into his skin that he would never get it out. It all piled up. It was too much. It made him feel frantic and inferior. He wasn't good enough. He couldn't save the people he so desperately wanted to save.

And yet.

_You made a difference to me._

He side eyed the file in the trash can by his bed, reaching for it before he even realized what he was doing. He slowly put the pages back in order, slipping them back into the folder. Then he closed it, stared at the front, running his fingers over the NCIS logo. Just because he read it didn't mean it was coming back. Gibbs was just playing on his natural curiosity as an investigator. And that's all it was. Curiosity.

Tony swallowed hard, unsure if the nausea was from his hangover or the weight of what he held in his hands. But he couldn't fight it. 

He opened the file, and started to read.


	5. waterlogged and sinking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Tony was good. And he knew he was good. He didn't second guess himself. He didn't wait for someone else to take the lead. He moved ahead knowing he could do the job better than anyone else. That confidence was such a vital part of Tony's identity that Gibbs didn't know who he would be without it. All smoke and mirrors and nothing else?"

There was a picture of Tony hanging on Abby's wall, two postcards framing it: One from Madrid, the other from Prague. He didn't write anything on them. Gibbs had checked. They just served to let Abby know he was alive, and nothing else. That wasn't quite good enough for the lab tech, who was standing in front of Gibbs with her hands on her hips. DiNozzo had another week and a half left of vacation time. After that, he'd have a decision to make. Gibbs had kept an eye on him, with help from Abby and McGee, and they knew he had booked a flight home that landed tomorrow morning.

Not that that meant anything.

Gibbs had kept sending him case files, updating him but never telling him the final result, and then sending a new one. He hadn't heard from Tony since Madrid, and he knew that was why. DiNozzo was pissed. Gibbs figured he would be. But he needed a subtle way to remind Tony who he was, even if he didn't end up returning to NCIS. Because while getting his agent back was important, getting Tony back on his feet was more important. The thing was, Gibbs didn't think there could be one with out the other. Tony wouldn't be okay unless he was an agent. It was too ingrained in him, down into his bones. That's what Gibbs learned about himself after Mexico. 

But Gibbs couldn't drag Tony back to the building, he couldn't force him to join his team again. What he could do was help him remember why he loved what he did, and all the people he could still help. And if, after that, DiNozzo still felt like he had too much blood on his hands, then Gibbs would let him walk away. Only after, though. Not before.

"We should be there when his plane lands, Gibbs," Abby said. "I miss him."

"No."

"But Gibbs—"

"Abby," Gibbs sighed. "I said no."

"But you've gotten to talk to him! And, no offense, Gibbs, but you haven't been doing a very good job because he's still not here. It's been almost two months!"

"Abby," Gibbs took a step forward. "He just needs some time. I promise he'll talk to you eventually."

"And he'll come back eventually, too," Abby paused. "Right, Gibbs?"

She looked so vulnerable, all big, sad eyes and pouted lips, that he almost wanted to lie to her. But he couldn't do that. It would just hurt worse if Tony never came back.

He kissed her on the cheek, handing her a Caf-Pow as he did, "I don't know, Abs."

He left her staring at his back as he walked out the lab. He knew she wanted to press him more, but he really didn't have anything to say. When it came to Tony these days, all of them were left guessing. Gibbs liked to believe the team had settled into a new normal over the past two months, but he knew that wasn't true. The mornings were quiet, polite. The silences filled with lingering glances at Tony's empty desk. Tony brought a certain kind of levity that was now missing. And even though Gibbs hated to admit it, they needed that levity. This job was hard and exhausting and emotionally draining. A little bit of humor helped them all get through.

The team was still capable, sure, and Gibbs guessed that was the most important thing. But it wasn't the same. Without DiNozzo, they weren't as good, Gibbs wasn't as good. He wasn't lying when he told Vance all those years ago that the team needed Tony. DiNozzo was a cop, through and through, and he was the only person on the team that could say that. McGee handled the technology, Bishop analyzed, Gibbs charged ahead on straight instinct. But Tony. Tony was a natural investigator, perceptive, street-smart. His skill set wasn't something that could be taught. It came naturally. 

It wasn't replaceable.

Gibbs needed him there to bounce ideas off of, McGee needed him there so he could focus on his strengths, instead of trying to mimic Tony's. Bishop needed him there to teach. But instead of DiNozzo, there was just emptiness. 

McGee glanced up at Gibbs made his way back into the bullpen. He'd been with Bishop all morning, tracking down a lead on their current case. He raised his eyebrows as Gibbs approached.

"Any word from Tony?"

Gibbs just stared at him, a silent answer.

"Right. Didn't think so."

Gibbs nodded toward the flat screen, "Show me what you got."

Bishop appeared by the side and they launched into a recap of their morning, which, as it turned out, had been mostly filled with dead ends. Gibbs counted at least three movie references that DiNozzo would've made and he found his eyes wandering toward the empty desk against his will. 

Everything was just … off. He didn't know how else to describe it. The team was out of balance. And he knew the case load was starting to take its toll, especially with Bishop as inexperienced as she was. But he refused to take a temporary agent to fill DiNozzo's spot. The last thing he wanted was for Tony to walk into the office and see somebody else sitting at his desk.

"McGee—"

"Track down Bruce Reynolds and see what his relationship is to the victim," McGee finished.

Gibbs nodded, "Bishop—"

"Get a BOLO out on the red truck. Got it."

"DiNo—" Gibbs stopped himself, trying to keep his wince off his face. McGee and Bishop both froze for a moment before Gibbs pressed on. "Get to work. Call me with any updates."

"Where are you going?" Tim asked as Gibbs headed toward the elevator.

"Out."

He needed coffee.

\---------

DiNozzo showed up in his basement again four days later. Time was running out on his vacation, and Gibbs expected him to make an appearance at some point, even though he wasn't sure exactly how angry Tony was over the case files. DiNozzo arrived the same way he did the first time, walking silently down the stairs and then taking a seat near the bottom.

Gibbs glanced up from his workbench. Tony looked much better than the last time Gibbs saw him. He had shaved, ironed his clothes. He looked put together, but the dark circles that still lingered under his eyes betrayed him.

"How was Europe?" Gibbs asked. 

Tony didn't answer. Instead, he stood, walking around the side of Gibbs' now nearly finished boat. He just had a little more staining and waterproofing to take care of before he could take it out of his basement and start something new. 

DiNozzo slowly ran his fingers over the wooden boards. Gibbs watched him, trying to figure out where this conversation was going. Tony's face was closed off, his eyes hard and distant. It was the look he got whenever he was interrogating a particularly difficult suspect and he didn't want to tip his hand. Finally, he stopped, leaning against the boat and facing Gibbs, his arms folded across his chest.

"Sending those files was a dirty trick."

"Yep."

Tony opened his mouth once, closed it. Then he gave in, "The marine's wife, the one who was killed. She was cheating on him, right?"

Gibbs put down the piece of wood he was holding, staring hard at his agent, "Right."

"It was the boyfriend, wasn't it?"

"Well, DiNozzo, why don't you tell me."

Tony glared at him, "It was the boyfriend."

Gibbs' lips twitched, "Yeah, it was the boyfriend."

"I knew it!" DiNozzo turned, bouncing his fist off the side of the boat.

Gibbs dusted off his hands as Tony fell quiet again. At least now he knew the files had their desired intent. They pissed Tony off, but they also caught his attention. DiNozzo could't help himself. He'd read them all. He'd gotten invested.

DiNozzo turned back to face him, "How's the team?"

Gibbs narrowed his eyes, getting to his feet. He took a few steps toward his agent, making sure to look him in the eye, "One short."

Tony swallowed, "Yeah."

"You want to do something about that?"

DiNozzo held eye contact with him for a few seconds before dropping his gaze, turning his attention back to running his hand over the boat. The wall was back up, and suddenly Gibbs couldn't read him again. 

"I just don't know if I can do it anymore," Tony said finally, his voice so soft that Gibbs had to strain to hear him. "What happens if the next time I step out there, somebody else dies?"

"You move on from it."

DiNozzo laughed, but there was nothing but sadness in it, "I haven't even moved on from this one yet."

Gibbs ran a hand over his face, sorting through what he wanted to say before he spoke. This might be his last chance to talk Tony down. He knew what was happening. Whenever DiNozzo looked at his hands now, all he saw was blood. When he closed his eyes, all he could remember were the mistakes, real or imagined. It's what Gibbs told him the first time the senior agent showed up in his basement. Tony had lost his perspective. Agents needed that perspective or they ended up dead. Or gone.

In Gibbs' world, they were so often one and the same.

"You doubting yourself, DiNozzo?"

Tony stopped, letting his hand linger on the side of the boat, his head dropping, "How could I not?"

"You listen to me," Gibbs took a step closer, moving into Tony's line of sight. "I trust you. Your team trusts you. You want to walk into a line of fire? I'll be there right beside you, no questions asked. But none of that matters if you don't believe it."

Tony slowly raised his head, "I just feel like I can't keep them safe."

Gibbs tilted his head slightly, "Who?"

"Everyone," Tony said softly, turning away from Gibbs and walking to the workbench, taking a seat. "Everyone."

Gibbs stared at him until DiNozzo lifted his head to meet his eye, "That's because you can't, DiNozzo. People die. You can't help them all."

"It just seems like every time I try I—" 

"Adam wasn't your fault," Gibbs interrupted. "And neither was Jenny or Paula. And that kid in Baltimore? We've been through this. You pulled her brother out of a fire, saved his life. You are out there trying to make a difference and that's a hell of a lot more than other people do."

"You would've saved Adam. You would've stopped him."

"No, DiNozzo, I wouldn't have!" Gibbs said, his voice rising. "I tried when we got there, remember? Kid wouldn't even look at me. _You_ were the only one he would talk to. _You_ were the only one who could give him a chance."

A heavy silence followed. Tony picked up the piece of wood Gibbs had been working on, flipping it over between his hands. Gibbs just watched him, waiting to see where DiNozzo would take the conversation next. 

Gibbs couldn't tell if he was getting through, if any of his words were penetrating the despair that had been draped over Tony's shoulders since Adam's death. He could usually read Tony so well. They'd been partners for long enough that it was easy. He knew when DiNozzo had an idea, when he felt like something was off. He knew the fake smiles from the real ones, the humor that was meant for enjoyment and the humor that was meant to deflect. But this Tony was different. This was Tony shut down, everything that made him go was set to neutral. It made Gibbs uneasy, and it wasn't a feeling he was used to.

Tony looked at him, "I don't know who I am without NCIS. I love it, you know that," Gibbs remained silent as Tony spoke, raising his eyebrows slightly. "But I can't come back feeling like this. I can't come back if I can't trust myself. I'll get someone hurt."

"You're right," Gibbs said. "But everyone around you trusts you, Tony. Entirely. With our lives. You think we would trust you if you hadn't earned it?"

DiNozzo turned his attention back to the wood, so Gibbs decided to switch tactics. It was one thing for Tony to walk away from NCIS because he was drowning in misplaced guilt, because he couldn't get the faces of the people he thought he was supposed to save out of his head. It was another to have his senior agent sitting in front of him, telling Gibbs that he didn't trust himself, that he was doubting the instincts Gibbs would follow into a burning building.

It didn't take Gibbs long after Tony joined his team to realize the bloated self confidence was an act, his father had seen to that. DiNozzo knew how to pretend. It's what he did best. He put on a show everyday and Gibbs never called him on it, because he knew Tony needed to. That's how he got through the day. They all had coping mechanisms. 

DiNozzo was afraid, too, of letting his guard down, of showing too much of himself. He'd heard all of the sayings from Tony over the years about DiNozzo men. They don't cry. Translation: They don't feel. So much of Tony's personality was a series of deflections, a flashing billboard that said, 'Don't look this way. I'm fine.'

But if there was one thing DiNozzo was truly confident in, one thing that wasn't part of the identity he'd so carefully created for himself, it was his skills as an investigator. Tony was good. And he knew he was good. He didn't second guess himself. He didn't wait for someone else to take the lead. He moved ahead knowing he could do the job better than anyone else. That confidence was such a vital part of Tony's identity that Gibbs didn't know who he would be without it. All smoke and mirrors and nothing else? 

Gibbs wasn't about to find out.

He walked over, bending down to grab Tony's chin in his hand, forcing DiNozzo to look at him. His agent was completely taken aback, confusion filling his green eyes. Gibbs didn't flinch. He held him there, making sure he had his attention.

"Listen to me," Gibbs said. "And listen good. There is nobody else that can do what you do. _Nobody else._ The team needs you, Tony. I depend on you. You read those case files. You're telling me you love it. You are still in there somewhere. Find my senior field agent and get your ass back to NCIS, do you understand me?"

DiNozzo blinked, "I understand, boss."

Gibbs nodded once and released his chin, stepping back. He turned away from DiNozzo, pretending to check over some things on his boat. He let the silence settle over them, let it cement his words. After awhile, he heard the chair push back and he turned back around to find Tony heading for the stairs. He stopped right before heading up.

"I'll be in sometime in the next few days either way," Tony said. "With my decision."

Gibbs held his eye for a long time, trying to read him. But even after DiNozzo left, closing the basement door behind him, Gibbs had no idea what he would do.


	6. you drown by staying there

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Gibbs seemed sure — and Tony was never one to doubt Gibbs' instincts — but Tony didn't know if he really was still in there somewhere. But then he thought back to those files, how he couldn't help himself, how when he was reading them he was able to forget how Adam's case had crushed him. He'd just been focused on getting answers. For a little while, for just those few hours, he felt like him again. "

Tony was sitting in silence, which was strange for him, but he'd been doing it more often than not lately. Usually, he had some kind of sound on in the background. Most of the time it was a movie, sometimes music, but always something. Right now, though, he was on his couch just resisting the urge to grab a bottle of bourbon. Tomorrow was his last day of vacation and he was going into NCIS. He needed to be sober for that conversation.

A knock on the door pulled Tony out of his thoughts. He considered not answering for a second, but quickly realized he'd have to face people tomorrow anyway. He was surprised the person only knocked once. Knowing the options for who could be standing on the other side of the door, he expected more insistence. His confusion cleared up as soon as he swung open the door and found Ellie Bishop standing on the other side.

Now, there's something he didn't see coming.

He had grown fond of Ellie, liked her a lot, actually. She was brilliant and kind and just strange enough to fit in perfectly with their little team. But for as much as he liked Ellie, he didn't expect her to show up at his apartment. Their relationship was still growing, the bond still forming. And judging by the nervous look on her face, she had to talk herself into coming to see him at all.

"Can I come in?" she asked. 

Tony gestured her through the day doorway and she offered a small smile, dropping her bag on the hardwood floor as she entered. He watched as her eyes took in his apartment, the simple decor, the neatness. Tony was sure she was surprised as everyone else was the first time they saw where he lived. 

"I'd offer you something to eat, Bishop, but I just got back from Europe so all I have is water," Tony said. "And maybe some crackers."

"You don't have to feed me," Bishop said, turning. "I came here to talk to you."

Tony raised his eyebrows, gesturing toward the couch and then walking over to take a seat.

"Your apartment is nice."

"Thank you," Tony said, offering her a small smile. "That what you came here to talk to me about?"

"No," Bishop's eyes drifted to her hands. "Gibbs would kill me if he knew I was here, you know."

"Well, I'm certainly not going to tell him," Tony leaned back, eyes wandering toward the liquor cabinet. "What's on your mind?"

"You."

Tony bit back the joking, innuendo-filled response he would've given her on any other occasion. He wasn't in the mood. Besides, she looked too serious.

"What about me?" he asked.

She paused for a long moment, "We miss you, you know."

Tony let out a shaky laugh, "McGee not good enough company for you, Bishop?"

"That's not what I mean." she said, her lips twitching. He could tell she was still nervous. 

"What is it that you mean, then?"

Ellie took a deep breath, seemingly gathering all of her courage, before she turned her body toward Tony and looked him in the eye, "Look, I know you've been through a lot. I know this has to do with more than just Adam."

Tony couldn't help but flinch at the mention of Adam's name, but he didn't speak. He just let Bishop continue.

"I haven't been doing this for very long, Tony. I'm still learning. More often than not, I'm a step behind. But I want to be like you guys," she stopped, forcing him to look at her with a gentle touch of his hand. "I want to be like you."

Tony scoffed, "You'd be better of emulating Gibbs."

"No," the force of her statement caught Tony's attention. "You take the time to teach me, Tony. Gibbs just expects me to pick it up as we go along and I get that, I do, but you … You talk to me. It's you I want to learn from," he opened his mouth but she cut him off. "And that's not the only reason. I see the way you do things, the way you handle yourself. That's the kind of investigator I want to be."

"Bishop—"

"Just let me get this out," she interrupted. "I don't know what you're going through. And if you want to walk away, I'm not here to stop you. But you're good, Tony. You are good at this. What you do is important. It's important to me and a lot of other people," her voice grew softer. "You've still got work to do."

After she finished, the only sound for awhile was the gentle hum of Tony's empty refrigerator. 

Tony held eye contact with her for a long moment before he reached over, planting a kiss on the top of her head, "Thanks, kid."

She smiled, looked at him for a moment longer and then got to her feet, scooping her bag off the floor on her way toward the door. She stopped right before leaving, "Will I see you tomorrow?"

He stood up from the couch, turning to face her, "One way or the other."

She nodded, once, before walking out and closing the door behind her.

He stared at the door for a long time after he left, trying to ignore the burning in his eyes. He couldn't deny it meant a lot of him, that she took the time to come to his apartment, that she risked his temper, that she said the things she did. Tony knew she would be just fine without him. She was well on her way already, and she had Gibbs and McGee, but something in her words struck a chord with him that he couldn't shake.

_You've still got work to do._

He let out a breath, running his a hand over his eyes to clear them, before heading back to the couch. He made himself ignore the liquor cabinet, even though all he wanted was a drink, something to take the edge off. He felt like that was all he was made of now: Edges. 

He glanced at the clock, taking note of how many hours he had left before he had to walk into Vance's office with a decision. And he still didn't fucking know. He didn't know. He felt sick just thinking about getting into the NCIS elevator, of seeing the squad room, of walking up the steps. Gibbs was right about him, he didn't trust himself. His confidence was shaken to his core. 

Tony used to have so much faith in his abilities as an investigator. But he'd been worn down over the years, beaten and broken and left for dead. He just didn't know if he had it in him to pick himself up off the mat one more time. When it came to being a cop, failure had never been in his vocabulary before. He walked into every situation confident he'd be able to figure a way out, whether that meant catching a killer or stopping a terrorist or saving a kid. Now, he was plagued by doubt. 

_There is nobody else that can do what you do. Nobody else. The team needs you, Tony. I depend on you. You read those case files. You're telling me you love it. You are still in there somewhere._

Gibbs seemed sure — and Tony was never one to doubt Gibbs' instincts — but Tony didn't know if he really was still in there somewhere. But then he thought back to those files, how he couldn't help himself, how when he was reading them he was able to forget how Adam's case had crushed him. He'd just been focused on getting answers. For a little while, for just those few hours, he felt like him again. 

He wondered, briefly, about how he would feel if something happened to one of his teammates and he wasn't there. He thought back years, to the kid he convinced to go back to Princeton, and wondered where he would be. He actively forced himself to remember the good. The kid in Baltimore that he did save. Bringing Ziva home from Somalia. The boy with a bomb strapped to his chest that Tony refused to kill. There was good in this job. There was good, but there was also heartache. There was devastation. 

_You made a difference to me._

Tony sighed, forcing himself off the couch and toward his bedroom. He would sleep on it, wake up in the morning with a clear mind, and decide. As he walked into the bedroom, he reversed his earlier thoughts, not considering how it would feel to walk back into NCIS, but instead trying to imagine never entering the building again.

It didn't make him sick. 

It didn't hurt.

He couldn't imagine it at all.

\---------

It was a beautiful morning, clear blue skies and the still crisp air of early summer. Tony woke up before his alarm and didn't even bother to trying to fall back to sleep. He showered, made coffee, grabbed breakfast from the cafe on the corner. And he didn't think. He read the paper during breakfast to keep his mind off of the impending decision. He listened to talk radio in the car so other people's words would feel his brain instead. He had given up trying to make his choice.

Gibbs told him he trusted Tony's instincts. And if he was going to come back, he'd have to trust them, too. So that's how he was going to decide. He was going to get into that elevator, step in that squad room, and trust himself to make the right choice. 

And if that failed, he would flip a coin.

He pulled into his parking spot at NCIS and turned off the car, leaning back in his seat for a moment and just looking at the building in front of him. Before NCIS, he never spent more than two years with a job. But NCIS wasn't just a job. He learned that quickly. Meeting Gibbs. Meeting Abby. Kate, McGee, Ziva, Bishop. Ducky and Palmer, even Vance. These people weren't just co-workers. They filled a long existing void in Tony's life. NCIS gave him a family, wormed it's way into his bloodstream, formed his identity. 

He was sure he could find a way to move on without it. He just didn't know how. He would have to find another career, and that seemed impossible. He wondered, briefly what Ziva was doing with her life, how she had wiped the slate clean and walked away. There was a difference between Ziva and him, though. She'd never had a choice. She'd been forced into this life, into Mossad. He smiled a little. She wanted to be a ballerina.

But Tony. Tony wanted this. Sure, there were dreams of playing professional basketball that were dashed by injuries. But there was always a part of him that wanted to do something more, that wanted a career that would make a difference. After that fire in Baltimore, he couldn't imagine doing anything else. He wanted to be a cop. He chose it. 

He sighed, grabbing his bag out of the front seat and climbing out of the car. Now or never. Moment of truth.

Tony expected to feel nerves as he walked into the lobby and flashed his badge. He expected his hands to shake as he pressed the elevator button. And when the doors opened, revealing the familiar orange of the squad room and his team just settling in for the morning, he expected the nausea that had come whenever he thought about this moment.

But none of that came.

Instead, he just felt calm.

He stopped for a moment after walking out of the elevator to let that feeling sink in, because he hadn't felt it since Adam pulled the trigger. Tony felt like he had just stepped off a roller coaster and back onto solid ground, like everything was suddenly firm and real and safe again. He closed his eyes, taking a breath, waiting for the sensation to fade. 

It didn't.

With a small nod of his head, he slipped off his sunglasses and started toward his bullpen. He could feel his team's eyes on him as he approached and he turned his head, catching Gibbs' stare. They held eye contact for a long moment, Gibbs asking a silent question and Tony holding back on the answer. 

Finally, Tony gave the slightest smile, barely there, one that probably went unnoticed by Bishop and McGee. But Gibbs caught it. He always caught it. The team leader nodded his head, one side of his mouth lifting up, before he sat down and started working on a report. No words needed.

Tony tossed his bag on the floor of his desk and turned to McGee, "Listen, McThief, if one thing is gone from my desk, I'm coming after you first."

He didn't say anything else, just turned and headed up the stairs to Vance's office, leaving a shocked, but smiling McGee in his wake.

\----------

"Agent DiNozzo," Vance glanced up as Tony walked into his office. "I've been expecting you. Have a seat."

"Director Vance," Tony greeted as he slid into a chair.

Vance looked at him for a moment, "It's good to see you. How was Europe?"

Tony thought about that, not really knowing the answer. He finally settled on, "Far away."

Vance seemed to understand, because he just nodded, "Far enough that you're ready to come back now?"

Tony paused, leaning forward a bit in his seat, "If you'll have me."

Vance smiled and Tony took note of it, because he knew how rare that was, "We are very lucky to have you," Vance paused, holding up a finger. "I have something for you. Didn't want to give it to you until you came back."

"How did you know I was going to come back?"

"I didn't," Vance slid an envelope across his desk. "But I hoped you would. Now get to work, DiNozzo. I'm sure you're team is very anxious to see you."

"Director Vance, about the night I left—"

Vance held up a hand, "Consider it forgotten."

Tony nodded once, a silent thank you, and then picked the letter up the desk and headed for the door. He walked to the elevator, waiting until the doors closed and then flicking the emergency switch. Then he slid down along the wall and then turned his attention to the envelope in his hand that had 'Agent DiNozzo' written across the front in neat cursive. 

He had an idea of what the envelope contained before he even opened it, but that didn't stop the lump from forming in his throat as he read Erica Mitchell's words. She thanked him, for his effort in trying to save her son. She told him she'd never seen Adam open up to anyone else that way except for his father. John was back at home now, she wrote, and she told him about Tony, about how hard he'd tried, about how close he'd been. John hoped to meet him someday, to shake his hand.

Tony read the letter twice and then folded it up and tucked it back into the envelope. He didn't even try to force back to the tears that leaked out, just wiped them away with the sleeve of his shirt. He was grateful to Vance for not giving him the letter before he decided to come back. Handling it now was difficult enough. Reading it then would've broken him. Tony gave himself a few more moments to pull himself together before he climbed back to his feet, hitting the button that would return him to the squad room.

As soon as he stepped off, he had an armful of Abby. She hit him out of nowhere and he staggered back, unprepared for the weight that barreled into him. But he quickly recovered, wrapping his arms around her and lifting her off her feet for a moment. 

He kissed her cheek, "Hey, Abs."

"Are you back?" she asked after he set her down. "Like really, really back not going anywhere ever again back?"

"Well," Tony smiled, pulling on one of her pigtails. "I will probably have to go home at some point."

She broke into a grin, reaching out to hug him again, "i missed you, Tony. I was so worried about you."

"I know," he said, turning to walk back toward the team with her arm looped through his. "I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize it's a—"

Tony stopped, turning to look at her, "Just this once."

Her smile faded for a moment. Serious Abby wasn't something he was used to.

"No apology necessary," she said, reaching down to squeeze his hand. "I'm just glad you're okay."

He nodded, "I'm getting there."

They walked together back to the bullpen, where Ducky and Palmer had joined the rest. Gibbs and McGee had spread the word quickly. Gibbs reached out as he approached, giving Tony a firm handshake and a long, hard stare. He was making sure Tony was okay. And the truth was, Tony wasn't sure that he was. Not completely. But he would be. Eventually.

There were plenty of greetings to go around. Handshakes for McGee and Palmer and Ducky. A hug for Bishop, and another whispered thank you in her ear. He knew he still had a big conversation ahead of him, that he'd have to call Zoe and explain himself, finally tell her everything that had happened in the past two months. This moment, though, belonged to his team. And he needed it.

He turned to McGee, "Hope you're ready to take a step down on the seniority ladder again."

He meant it as a joke, something to lighten the mood, but McGee's smile faded. He gave Tony a long look, "Happy to."

A ringing phone interrupted the reunion and Tony half paid attention to Gibbs' conversation, knowing there was a case coming. The nerves he'd been expecting all morning came back then, a certain anxiety that was never there before. But he knew, even then, he made the right call. It might take awhile to settle back in, but this was exactly where he needed to settle.

Everyone else was smiling. And Tony had to admit, there was a part of him that felt what they felt, that everything was back exactly the way it was supposed to be. He didn't regret taking time off. He needed the space. He needed to wander and clear his head. 

He needed to remember where he belonged. 

Gibbs closed his cellphone, glanced at Tony, "Grab your gear. Got a dead sailor in Norfolk."

_End._


End file.
